I stand up, rising, letting the blade cut deeper, until I am on my feet and it is sunk to the haft, the Count’s knuckles pressing into the edges of the wound.
It’s happening fast. Happening in the spaces between my heartbeats. I’m down and I’m up and he is looking at me and I am stepping backward and punching him in the wrist and now I am standing five feet away from him, the blade still in me, but it is my hand on the haft, pulling it free.
The wound in my belly seals as the steel comes out.
I show the Count his blade.
—Lose this?
He shows me my gun.
—Lose this?
I charge.
He shoots.
My thoughts are chasing themselves, trying to keep up with the pace of events. Thinking of Predo’s death, my thoughts are trying to make my body veer, but I am not faster than bullets and the Count has fired twice, and two bullets should be enough to keep me down while he finishes me, but he’s shooting from his hip like a gangster and he may be hot shit with a scythe blade but he’s probably never fired a gun in his life and he just plain misses and throws the gun to the side.
—Fuck this shit.
And I’m going to cut his head off with his own blade and he drops under the flat arc as I swing for his neck and shows me what he’s learned since he came here, squatting and pivoting, one leg extended, going for my legs, that are not there as I hop and realize I’ve put myself in the air and he comes out of his squat and puts both fists in my chest before my feet touch ground and I twist away from the impact but it still feels like two tiny trucks driving into me and I flip backward out of the air and tumble and my face goes into concrete followed by the rest of me and I can feel the Enclave shifting and coming at us, circling and as I’m rolling to my back I realize I’ve lost the scythe and the Count comes into view scooping it from the ground where I dropped it and I keep rolling as he brings it down like a pick again and again chipping the concrete and leaving divots closer and closer faster than me the tip skittering across my ribs and my hand goes inside my jacket for the amputation blade and that slows me too much and the scythe splits ribs and rips my lung and punches out my back and he hauls on it and it tears my side open and I have my feet and I have my own blade and I feel the Vyrus swarm my wound’s gaping hole like a million tiny electric shocks trying to close it up and we’re at the middle of a circle of Enclave where I will die and I lunge at the Count and he spins away from me and the scythe cuts as he steps past me and my hamstring is plucked so I go to one knee and he’s just better at this than I am, just faster and stronger and used to living at the edge of the Vyrus, and I’d really like to see the look on his face when he finds out his whole world has been destroyed and it was me who blew it to hell.
But I don’t think I’m going to get to.
The curve of his blade is so perfect for harvesting.
It travels flat and smooth, a little sharper and it would be slicing through the dust in the air as it comes for my neck.
And I see that I am on a stain in the concrete, a shape I remember, left there when I laid Daniel on this spot and watched him die. I remember Daniel. How he liked to tease me with hints. Suggestions that I was supposed to replace him. Never taken seriously. I remember him telling me the Wraith was something Enclave summoned from someplace else. Remember the old man of the sewers, the old man whose real name is Joseph. Remember how Daniel only called me by the name I was first born with, Simon. Remember old crazy Joseph of the sewers telling Simon that he’d seen a Wraith summoned. Saying that the Wraith was what we become. Remember seeing that blackness in his eyes. Swimming under the surface. I remember dying in that long-ago basement. Dying because I’d been without blood too long. Because my supply had been stolen. But not dead long. Coming back, Vyrus bringing me back, emptying me out to live, forcing me to live, just long enough to get it the blood it needed to live. Remember being on the verge of dying, Vyrus dying too, and the Wraith. Freezing a man through. Cold like space. At the end. And Daniel saying they summoned the Wraith. And Daniel, I get this idea of him in my old apartment, stealing the last of my blood. I get an idea of Daniel, for years, trailing me, walking in my steps and in my scent, erasing traces of himself. I see Daniel, telling me again, they summoned the Wraith. Telling me again that he starved me, to watch me die, to see if I could survive it, and telling me he sent the Wraith to save me. And I get this idea of myself in that basement, cold like dead, black-eyed, doing something inhuman. Something that wouldn’t have been the strangest thing I’ve ever done.
I see the Wraith.
And.
I’m.
There.
World breaks around me, scrambles, reassembles, and I’m back in the school basement. Holes leaking blood. Naked Doctor Horde about to shoot me. Black at the edge of my vision. Vibrating, writhing, black. And bits of it break off and drift over my eyes.
And I see Amanda in the corner. She’s going to die if I die.
And I think of Evie. She doesn’t know who I am.
And I don’t want to die.
So I do.
Something.
My fingers curl, corkscrew, twist into Horde’s skin, bloodless, piercing, and frost creeps over him and the room pulses with every heartbeat, black, white, black, white, and the black retreats and I close my hands and they are empty fists and my eyes clear and Horde is dead and there is nothing in this world that could have killed a man like that.
The Wraith.
I see the Wraith.
And I see myself.
And the blade is closer.
My hands are on the Count’s stomach.
I feel the dark before I see it. And then it’s in my eyes. Filling my eyes. And I know how to do this. How to become this.
Even if I don’t understand what it is.
Black comes down and the first bullet goes in his back and comes out his chest, opening a blossom of bone cartilage and blood and he starts to turn but a garden of similar flowers bloom there and the scythe shaves some of my scalp as it veers upward and he is thrown into me and I can almost see through the gaping hole that was his chest, right through to Evie, holding the gun that he threw away, pulling the trigger until there’s no point in it anymore.
Black floats away. My thoughts clear.
—That’s my girl.
The Count spins from me, screwing himself into the ground, screams rising and falling like a dying rabbit singing scales, one word over and over.
—Kiiilll, kiiiillll, kiiilll, kiiiiiiiiilllll!
But no one does.
—Tell you, buddy.
I feel the hot wind as he comes out of the sewer cap.
—Tell you, looks to me like something is being decided here.
Enclave are shifting.
He comes into view.
—Kind of a power struggle, looks like to me.
The smell of him is freezing everything. Enclave going still.
Mad old man, a ripple on the air, his words a shiver.
—Remember me?
He moves and everyone moves now, around him, creating distance.
They remember. The Enclave killer. They remember.
He paws the floor with his feet, digging in.
—What’s lacking here these days.
His hands flash open and closed.
—Is a little discipline.
Which he starts to dispense.
And I have just enough in me to roll my head to the side so I don’t have to see it.
All I can see now is Evie, walking to me, one hand alongside her face, shielding her eyes from what the old man is doing.
She kneels next to me, shakes her head.
—I hate fights, Joe.
I’d tell her she shouldn’t have fallen for a fighter.
I’d tell her it’s only because I love her that I make such a mess.
But she’s got her mouth on mine, and I want that to last as long as it will, this kiss, here in the slaughterhouse, I want it to las
t till I die.
I dream a green and pink egg. It cracks, black ink leaks. Something is writhing inside, forcing its way out.
Amanda looks up from her microscope.
—Once it’s out, you can’t put it back in.
I look at the egg in my hand, the black dripping into my palm, the thing inside pushing the halves of the shell apart.
Terry spins the hand crank on his mimeo machine, turning out handbills for a protest.
—Let it, I don’t know, let it out, but make sure you keep a handle on it, let it out when its energy is aligned with your own desires.
I’m holding the egg in both hands, black dribbling onto the floor, a few fragments of shell falling away.
Predo sits at his desk, flipping through a file marked TOP SECRET.
—Close that thing up, Pitt. You are not suited to making decisions of this scope.
I’m cradling the egg in both arms, knees bent under the weight, rocked from side to side as whatever’s inside thrashes about.
Hurley pats the end of an ax handle into his palm.
—Step on da damn ting dere, Joe. Best not ta take any chances wit it.
It’s on the floor and I’m balancing it, keeping it from rolling over on top of me, a flood of black running off it and pooling over my shoes.
Percy takes a drag from his Pall Mall.
—That’s a problem you got there. Thinkin’ on that one, gonna give your head a hurtin’. Askin’ me, I say use it, before it use you.
I’m backing away from the egg, watching the shell shatter.
The Count looks up from the miniskirted teenager he’s making out with.
—Yo and just fuck it or whatever. What be will be will be.
The shell is breaking open, it’s coming out.
Daniel studies the sun through an open window.
—Simon.
I run to him.
—Daniel, what the hell is that?
The shell crumbles to the floor and a worm, glossy in the black blood of its birth, bursts out, its own tail in its mouth.
Daniel glances at it, shrugs, returns his attention to the sun.
—Got me. I’ve never seen such a thing.
—But you know everything.
He shakes his head.
—I fake a good game, Simon, but I’m just making it up as I go along.
It eats itself and grows and eats itself and grows and I back into a corner and someone puts a hand on my shoulder and I turn and look at Evie.
I shake my head.
—Baby, you’re not dead.
She nods.
—OK, well, neither are you.
Which is news.
I wake up with blood in my mouth.
I swallow and lick my lips.
—More.
Evie pushes the cup against my mouth and I drink the rest and lick the inside clean and nod and suck it from my teeth.
—More.
She holds the cup upside down.
—All gone.
I wince.
—Shit. I need. I’ll never make it without.
I feel for the wound the Count opened in my side and find a deep gnarled dent, slivers of bone poking through fresh skin.
—That’s not as bad as I thought.
Evie shows me an empty two-liter soda bottle with an interior glaze of tacky blood.
—You’ve had quite a bit.
I roll my head to the side, we’re still on the killing floor, but the killing looks like it’s done. New bodies scatter among the parts that had fallen from the hanging corpses. And living Enclave, in rows, unmoving, facing the old man at the front of the warehouse, like they used to do with Daniel.
But the old man’s not Daniel.
—OK, buddies, tell you what for and then some. Living up here, listening to ten kinds of bullshit. Buddies, forgetting what we’re made for. Made for killing and death. Made for the dark. Made to become strong in the light. Make a religion out of that when it’s supposed to be life. Do you doubt me?
He picks up a corpse in each hand and shakes them back and forth.
—Do you doubt me?
No one seems to doubt him.
He drops the corpses.
—Buddy over there.
He points at me.
—Buddy over there, he’s cracked your world in half. Let in the sunlight. Trust me he has. You don’t know it, but you’re standing in the sun right now. Buddies, everyone can see you now. And look at yourselves, are you burning? Do you melt?
He stomps, tosses his head around, screams.
—I can feel my skin being eaten by the Vyrus!
He plants himself and a grin slashes his face.
—I like it!
He starts walking through them, pulling them to their feet.
—Buddies, this is not where we live. Playing church games. We live in our natures. True to ourselves. We’re in the sun, and it’s not killing us, not a one. Only thing that kills us is one another. That’s over. Buddies, we’re going down now. Live like dark things live. Discipline doesn’t grow because you nurture it. It grows because you need it to live. And you!
He’s standing over me and Evie.
—You two.
He smells the air around us.
—You two got dead all over your smell, buddy. You ain’t gonna last.
I push myself up on my elbows.
—None of us are.
He gives his cat cough.
—Oh, buddy, look into my eyes.
He bugs them at me.
I look.
And I see it there.
—It doesn’t scare me.
He slides his lids closed, slides them open.
—And why should it, buddy, it’s just who we are.
He looks at Evie, grunts, nods.
—Yeah, buddy, I see, I see. I’m old, but I’m not gone. I see.
He waves a hand, flickers off.
—You cling to that life as long as you can, it’ll drag you down, both of you.
He’s at the sewer cap, waving the Enclave down into the ground.
—Told you before, buddy.
He clambers down himself, only his head visible.
—You belong down here.
His head drops.
—With us.
And quiet. Creak of dead-bearing chains above, slow trickle of blood. And the breathing of my girl.
She turns from the sewer cap and looks at me.
—Always interesting when you pay a visit, Joe.
I wave a hand at the havoc.
—Got to be the life of the party, that’s just me.
She puts a hand on top of her bald head.
—I shot the Count.
—Baby, you killed his ass.
She hugs herself.
—I never killed anyone.
She hugs herself harder.
—God, that felt good.
She holds up a hand.
—Not just anyone. Him. Killing him felt good.
She smiles.
—Reeeally good.
She hides the smile with her hand.
—Awful. I’m awful. Terrible.
—Naughty even.
She takes her hand from her mouth.
—His own fault. Such an asshole. Such a titanic asshole. Two years. Two fucking years in this place with him. Constant back-and-forth. Just trying to keep some kind of stability to the whole thing. And he just keeps bringing in more Enclave. Kids clearly not capable of adapting to this life. Pushing all the limits of what we can bear. And then he started these gladiator matches. Pitting them against each other. Said it was to strengthen the whole. He just pulled that stuff out of his ass. He just.
She draws up her knees, rocks back and forth.
—I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop it. Not without. My people, there weren’t enough of us. So. I could have tried. But. We all would have. And then what? Because no one would have been here to keep things.
She stops rocking.
—Norm
al.
She laughs.
—Yeah.
She puts her head on her knees.
—I was so lonely.
She closes her eyes.
—I was alive. I wasn’t dying anymore. I was alive. But I was so lonely. And I thought to myself sometimes, If I was back in the hospital, Joe would come see me.
She opens her eyes.
—I was so lonely.
She unwraps her arms, touches the wound in my side.
—Hey.
I wince.
—It’s OK.
She puts a hand on my stomach.
—Joe.
—Baby. I need to. I’m. Sorry. I think.
She pushes a hand under my shirt.
—I was so lonely.
She runs fingers along the healing scar in my stomach.
It hurts, but I don’t stop her, I just try to get the words out before I can think about them anymore.
—There were these kids, and, they were in a hole, and, I didn’t. I could have, like you here. I could have helped. But I didn’t. And then I gave up. I went and hid. Kids. But. I don’t want to lie. Because. Baby, I don’t care. I don’t. I did what I could for them when I could and if I was a year too late for some of them. I don’t care. What I care about. What matters to me.
I grab her wrist.
—I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I am.
I touch her face.
—Baby, I’m a killer.
She covers my mouth with her hand.
—It’s OK. I am too.
She takes her hand away from my mouth and exhales.
—And, Joe, I’m a Vampyre, we can totally have sex now.
She’s not in the mood to wait.
Everything hurts.
Nothing feels good. Nothing but her.
I don’t tell her what Amanda said, that we could have been having sex the whole time we knew each other. Something like that could kill the mood. Such as it is. And sure, holding that back after just apologizing for years of lies, that’s maybe not how you put your relationship on a healthy new footing. Figure I’m not really looking for a healthy relationship. I just love the girl. So I do what seems the right thing to do at the time. The other stuff, we’ll sort that out later.
It doesn’t take long.
Who wants to linger over it in a place like this.
—Baby.
She pulls her face from where it’s buried in my neck.
—M’tired.